


A quite eventful night

by Thei



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (like literally cold feet), Battle Boyfriends, Billy's POV, Cold Feet, Harringrove Holiday Exchange, Hugging, M/M, RIP Billy's left boot, Sharing a Bed, Soft Boys, battle of the jackets - which one is superior?, demodogs, friends to boyfriends maybe, low-key pining, monster fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thei/pseuds/Thei
Summary: Billy's got a good feeling about tonight; he's going to a party, he looksgreat, and Steve's going to be there.Of course, that's when Susan knocks on his door and asks him to pick Max up. Everything kinda goes to shit from there.(Itdoesturn out pretty okay, though, by the end of it.)
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 16
Kudos: 158
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2020





	A quite eventful night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiko/gifts).



> I tried to incorporate elements that my lovely recipient would like, but then the story mutated and got long and kind of got out of hand so ... err, sorry?
> 
> Thank you to [peterqpan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterqpan/pseuds/peterqpan) who was kind enough to read through this for me.

Billy watches his reflection in the mirror and gives himself a grin and a wink. He bites his lip and turns to the side to check out how his jeans cling to his ass. _Perfect_ , as always.

Grabbing the can of hairspray, he makes sure his curls look just the way he wants them to, before he steps back and gives himself one last once-over. He looks _good_. He’s going to Stacey’s party tonight, and he’s ready to fuck things up.

The best part? Steve’s coming too.

After that night in early November, when he and Steve had clung to each other in underground tunnels and Billy had found out that monsters existed, they had started hanging out occasionally. Turns out that it’s hard to keep antagonizing the guy who you’ve been running for your life with, and whom you’ve clutched to desperately when you were certain you were going to die. (In all fairness, Steve had been clutching at _him_ too, so Billy refused to be too embarrassed about it. They’d almost gotten eaten by monsters, after all. Billy told himself he’d only been grabbing at Steve in preparation to throw him to the dogs. He told Steve this, later, when they were smoking under the bleachers and huddling close because of the cold. Steve just laughed.)

So he and Steve are cool now. More than cool. Friends, even. They hang out in school, during lunch. They smoke together after classes. They play basketball, both during gym and sometimes after school, if Billy has to wait for Max to finish something with her nerdy friends with their lame radio club or whatever. Sometimes, after a good game, Steve will pat Billy’s shoulder and smile at him while flicking sweaty hair out of his eyes. A couple of times, Billy has thrown his arm around Steve’s neck and squeezed when one of them shot a particularly beautiful three pointer. And couple of weeks ago at a party, somewhat-drunk Steve greeted him in a random kitchen with a one-armed hug. No one even batted an eye. Friendly one-armed hugs – it’s a thing, apparently. That people do. And it’s not considered weird either, because they’re _friends_. Billy can do that now, he can touch Steve like that. Can get close enough to catch a scent of whatever shampoo he’s using, and sometimes feel the crunch of hairspray. Because they’re friends.

It’s pretty great. Much better than before the monster dogs, at least. So yeah, he thinks while reaching for his jacket and keys – he’s got a pretty good feeling about tonight.

Then there’s a timid knock on his door, and the good feeling dissipates.

It’s Susan. He knows this without turning around, because she’s the only one who knocks. Neil mostly just opens the door without making himself known, and Max never knocks – she _bangs_. So now, he rolls his eyes and keeps his back to the door – not caring that he’s being disrespectful. It’s just Susan, after all.

“What?” he says, and hears the door open.

“Billy,” comes Susan’s voice, as timid as her knock. “Oh … are you going out?” She sounds surprised, even though she was there at the dinner table yesterday, when he asked Neil for permission to go. Maybe she’s forgotten.

“Yeah, in a bit,” he says and finally turns to face her. She’s frowning, her face a mask of worry. She’s wringing her hands, and Billy tastes something sour. “Why?”

“I just … I was hoping …” She hands him a piece of paper, and he looks down at it, surprised, as she continues. “I found this in Max’s room just now.”

It’s a note.

 _I’m at Dustin’s_ , it says, in Max’s messy handwriting. _Be back later._

Billy groans and drags a hand down his face. He knows what’s coming.

“I was hoping you could swing by Dustin’s house and pick her up before you go? I don’t have their number and Neil … Well, she didn’t ask any of us before she left.”

Billy was there to hear yesterday’s argument. When Neil had told him he could go to his party, Max had asked if she could have a sleepover at her friends’ house. Neil – probably knowing that most of her friends were boys – had frowned and speared a potato on his fork, and Susan had promptly told Max no. Had told her that they could rent a movie and watch it together, just the three of them. Make a _family night_ out of it. Max had protested loudly, until Billy kicked her under the table. She’d kicked back and glared at him, but stopped complaining, and Billy had thought that was it.

Apparently it wasn’t. He’s gonna strangle the little shit when he gets his hands on her. She’s always pulling this shit – just doing what she wants as if her actions doesn’t affect others!

It’s good that Neil isn’t home yet. Susan seems to think the same thing, as she throws a quick glance at the door as if her husband would suddenly walk in – even if he’s not due home for at least half an hour. “If you could maybe go get her? Bring her back before going to your party? If Neil comes home before you, I’ll tell him that I let her go there for a little while. And that I sent you to pick her up.”

Unsaid, and paraphrased: _I’ll cover for Max, and paint you as a responsible big brother, if you can get her home before Neil finds out and blows a gasket._

Billy sighs. He knows he’ll go. If he doesn’t bring Max home, Neil will find out about it and he will find a way to make it Billy’s fault. And it _is_ good of Susan to keep it on the lowdown. He knows what kind of a risk she’s taking. So he nods.

“Alright,” he says. The relief on her face is palpable.

He grabs his jacket and pushes past Susan on his way out, but once he’s starting up his baby, he doesn’t take the road that will take him to Henderson’s house. Nope, he drives straight to Loch Nora.

Firstly, because if he’s going to be forced to play babysitter before he can go to the party, it is only fair that Steve – who is an _actual_ babysitter – does so too.

Secondly, because curly-haired Henderson still isn’t very fond of Billy (even though Claudia Henderson seems to love him, in a purely motherly and pinching-your-cheeks sort of way, and has given him home-made cookies _twice_ now, when he’s stopped by to pick Max up from their house). The loud-mouthed little brat will be less likely to throw the door shut in his face if Billy brings Steve along.

And _maybe_ thirdly, because he’s been looking forward to spending the night with Steve. And _maybe_ will use this as an excuse to get another hour of Steve-time in. Maybe.

***

So he drives to Loch Nora, and he parks on the road even though it’s only Steve’s car in the driveway, and then he checks himself out in the rearview mirror – making sure his hair still looks good – before exiting the car and sauntering up to the house.

Steve’s parents aren’t home. Billy knows this for certain, and not only because the driveway was empty of their car, but also because even through the closed door, he can hear the music. Some preppy pop song that he only recognizes because the same song has been playing from Max’s room lately. It’s horrible, but so very fitting for King Steve getting ready.

Knocking on the door, he leans up against the doorframe in a seductive manner, then realizes what he’s doing and takes a step back and puts his hands in his pockets instead. He _does_ give himself a final once-over – just to make sure that his open jacket hasn’t bunched up the collar of his shirt.

When Steve opens the door (after Billy rang the doorbell for the second time), he looks surprised to see Billy there. Well, he looks surprised for a _second_ , before seemingly realizing that he’s listening to the kind of music that thirteen year old girls listen to. Holding a hairbrush in his hand. And not in a “about to fix my hair” kind of way, no; in a “pretending it’s a microphone” kind of way. His face reddens, then, and he gestures vaguely behind him and mutters something about the radio.

In that exact moment, the song tapers off and is replaced by the next one. By the same band. Because it’s the next song on the tape. Billy knows this, because Max’s room is next to his, and she has the album too. Unfortunately.

He raises his eyebrows pointedly. Steve blushes, which shouldn’t make Billy’s heart swell as it does. Doing his best to ignore that fact, Billy grins at him, making Steve groan.

“Aw, fuck. How much for you to forget this ever happened?”

“You don’t have that kinda money, pretty boy.”

Steve laughs at that and opens the door wider. Billy takes it for the invitation it is, and steps inside while Steve walks over to turn the music off. The hairbrush is gone when he gets back, but his cheeks are still tinted pink. It’s adorable. Billy can’t help but smile.

Steve frowns, probably convinced that Billy’s making fun of him (which – Billy absolutely _could_ ). “What are you looking at?”

“You, all dolled-up,” Billy says and grins. Steve gives him the finger, making him laugh. “Nah, you look good.”

“Well, _someone_ said something about a party tonight – promised a night of booze and adventure – and who wouldn’t want to look their best for that?” Steve puffs out his chest and turns, striking an exaggerated pose.

But Billy’s face falls at that, and he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sorry, but the party will have to wait.”

“What? Why?”

“Because my little brat of a step-sister –“ He pointedly doesn’t say _bitch_ , “– snuck out without permission –“ He doesn’t say _again_ , “– and I have to go pick her up.”

“And this involves me, how?” Steve asks, raising one eyebrow. It’s a front though; they’re friends now, and they both know that Steve will go along. Still, Billy takes a particular kind of pleasure in telling him.

“Because she ran off to one of _your_ delinquent kids, Harrington.”

Steve grasps at his heart dramatically even as he moves to the coat rack and reaches for his jacket with the other hand. “How _dare_ you? My kids are not delinquents!”

And even though the threat of Neil’s ire hangs over his head, Billy feels light. It’s so _easy_ to play along – _too_ easy, almost. “I mean, she never used to run off like this back in California.” Which is the truth, because Neil and Susan had actually approved of her friends back there, so she didn’t have to. “Now, though? It must be the bad company she keeps. _Your_ kids.”

Steve breaks character then, and dissolves in laughter. “I saw Dustin cover Will’s ears earlier this week, because he wanted to protect him against all the filth that your sister started spewing when she slipped on some ice and fell into the snow.” It’s _step_ -sister, but Billy doesn’t correct him. “She curses like a sailor! If anyone’s bad company, it’s her.”

Billy preens at that. “I don’t wanna brag, but I taught her everything she knows.”

“Really?” Again with the raised eyebrow. “You can do a kickflip?”

“I can.” He can’t.

“Bullshit.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait until the snow is gone and see for yourself.” And, dammit, now Billy’s going to have to learn. Or just hope that Steve forgets about this in the months it takes for the snow to melt.

Steve’s giving him a look that tells him he will _absolutely_ remember, and Billy has to remind himself that he’s got dirt on Steve, too. They probably have enough blackmail material on each other by now that none of them will dare to talk for fear that their own secrets will be revealed in retaliation. Billy watches Steve pull on his jacket, and wonders if maybe that’s what makes a strong friendship.

They take Billy’s car, because Billy knows better than to keep his car parked outside a dark and empty house when he’s supposed to be at a party – just in case it gets back to Neil somehow. His Camaro is easily recognizable, after all. It is, hands down, the sexiest car in all of Hawkins – if he may say so himself.

Once they get to Henderson’s house, Steve rings the doorbell and Billy stays back – at least until the door opens to reveal Mrs. Henderson. She lights up when she sees them both, and Billy takes a small step forward – not at all as if he was hiding behind Steve just now, more like he just got up to the door – and gives her his best smile. “Mrs. Henderson.”

“Hello boys,” she says, not at all affected by Billy’s charming smile. That’s what he likes best about her. “Good to see you both. Have you eaten?” Always trying to feed them – that’s his second favorite thing about her. Something smells really nice in the kitchen, and Billy’s actually considering letting Max stay for a bit if it means he’ll get a plate of whatever it is.

“Yes, we have,” Steve smiles, somewhat apologetically. He probably smells whatever’s cooking in the kitchen, too, and mourns not getting to taste it. “We have to be on our way, we were just wondering if Max was here? It’s getting close to her curfew, and we figured we’d pick her up, since it’s on the way.”

Mrs. Henderson smiles warmly but shakes her head. “Oh, I’m afraid she’s not here.” Billy stiffens and has to fight to keep the smile on his face as she continues. “Dustin ran out of here half an hour ago, like a bat out of hell, telling me he was going out but that he’d be back later. His friends were waiting for him by the road, it looked like they were in a hurry. I didn’t see if Max was with them, but I guess she was. Those kids, they’re inseparable these days.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve says. “Do you know where they were going?”

“I guess Mike’s? It’s the closest, and they have the whole basement to themselves so that’s usually where they go. I can go call Karen, if you want …?”

Billy steps in, then. “No, that’s alright Mrs. Henderson, thank you.” He surreptitiously takes a hold of Steve’s elbow and pulls him back a bit, taking a step back himself. “Have a good evening now.”

“Yeah,” Steve adds. “And tell Dustin we stopped by!”

Mrs. Henderson is about to say something when a gray cat tries to sneak out through the door, and she busies herself with blocking its path with her leg. Steve and Billy take the opportunity to turn and walk back to the car. Billy’s itching for a cigarette, but stops himself from reaching for it. He can smoke later – when they’ve found Max.

“So,” Steve says as he opens the door on the passenger side. “Are we going to the Wheelers next?”

“No,” Billy says.

“Why not? If we need to pick Max up, then –“

“Because they’re not at the Wheeler’s.”

“What?” Steve scrunches up his face in confusion, and it shouldn’t make him look so endearing, but it does. “How do you know?”

Billy motions behind Steve, and he turns to look. There are tracks in the snow in the front yard – it’s been snowing all afternoon, and it’s easy to see where Dustin must have gone. The tracks lead from the door and out to the road – but to the left. If he was going to the Wheeler’s, he’d have gone to the right.

Billy waits, without comment, until Steve gets it. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Billy says and gets in the car. Steve follows. “So Max left a note and disappeared. Henderson apparently rushed out and wouldn’t tell his mom where he was going. Both of them just said they’d be back later. They’re not going to the Wheeler’s …” He trails off, lifting his eyebrows.

“So where are they?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But we’re gonna find out.” No way is he going to drive from house to house on a wild goose chase, like he did a couple of months ago. That’d just be wasting time. “Do you still have that walkie-talkie the kids gave you?”

***

Steve _does_ still have the walkie-talkie the kids gave him. They’d saved up for it together and gifted him with it for Christmas – Hopper had apparently chipped in, too – saying that if he was going to save the world with them, they needed a way to reach him. Billy only knows this because Max had been tasked with wrapping it – apparently they thought that just because she was a girl, she’d be able to wrap it up all nicely. Well, joke’s on them, because Billy saw that thing and it looked like a giftwrapped turd. She’d tried to tie a pretty bow around it, but failed spectacularly – Billy’s fingers had been itching to fix it, but obviously he hadn’t.

Besides, for some reason Steve was fond of those kids, so he probably found the ugly giftwrapping charming, or something.

Point is, though, that Steve keeps the walkie-talkie in his room, with a bunch of batteries. He tells Billy on the ride back that he’s never had to use it (except for when the kids insisted they try it out, in the days between Christmas and New Year), so he’s not sure of how to work it.

“We’ll figure it out,” Billy says, and hopes that they will. He doesn’t know how long he’s got until Neil gets home, but he’s over all of this already. He just wants to drop Max off at the house and go to the party with Steve and not have to worry about anything for one goddamn evening. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently it is. Because once they get back to Steve’s place, and get inside (Billy kicks the snow off his shoes against the outside wall before going in, but he doesn’t take them off – just stomps into the kitchen and waits for Steve to go upstairs and get the walkie), and manage to get the walkie working, Henderson’s _actual_ answer is:

“Can’t talk, busy saving the world. Over and out.”

Billy sees red, snatches the walkie out of Steve’s hands, presses the button and snarls, “Don’t ‘over and out’ me, you little shit, put Max on _right now_!” He doesn’t ask if she’s there, because he _knows_ she is.

Fuck.

A part of him is convinced that Henderson won’t reply, but then Max’s voice comes through, loud and clear. “What? Over.”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? You snuck out! Again! Where are you, we’re picking you up.”

“No, you don't have to –”

Billy laughs, darkly. "It's not a discussion, shitbird. Tell me where the hell you are, right now!”

“This is exactly why we didn't tell you!”

Steve, perhaps sensing Billy's impending meltdown, grabs the walkie-talkie out of his hands and says – much more calmly than Billy would have been able to, if it were him, “What are you even doing, Max?”

There's silence for a couple of seconds, and then Lucas’ voice comes in. “There may be something going on. We're checking it out.”

Steve looks at Billy, and Billy can feel the color drain from his face.

“What do you mean, 'something going on'?” Steve asks, slowly.

There's some shuffling, as if the kids are fighting for the radio, and then it's Dustin again. “El felt something and called Mike. But we already knew, because Will felt something too, right Will?” A muffled voice in the background that may or may not have been Will replies something. “Yeah,” Dustin agrees.

“ _What_ did they feel?” Steve asks, and his voice is wavering. “Dustin, what’s going on?”

Billy feels as if he's wavering, too. Memories from an underground tunnel – with lean-looking demon dogs with no eyes and too many teeth – wash over him, and he clenches his jaw so hard it hurts. If those little shits have gone out to hunt monsters again, he'll skin them alive.

“We don't _know_ , Steve, that’s what we're trying to find out!”

“But it's ... it's got something to do with the Upside Down?” Steve asks, as if he’s hoping he’s misunderstood something.

Billy grimaces. He's heard them refer to the place like that, but he's never liked it. It was all rightside up to him, only _wrong_.

A pause, then, “Yeah. We think so.”

Throwing his head back and resisting an urge to scream and punch a hole in the wall, Billy take a deep breath and watches as Steve rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, we're coming to you. Where are you?”

“You don't have to –”

“ _Where are you_?” And wow, Steve can be scary when he means business. Even Billy blinks and straightens his spine at his tone of voice. “If you don't tell me where you are, I will tell all of your parents that you've snuck out and I'll get you all grounded, and I'll never drive you anywhere ever again.”

A scandalized gasp from the other end.

“Steve!”

“Don't _try_ me, Henderson!”

Steve is actually pointing threateningly at the walkie-talkie right now, as if Henderson will be able to see him through it. It'd be funny if Billy wasn't two seconds away from vibrating out of his skin.

“Fine,” comes Dustin's sullen voice from the little speaker, and he starts rattling off directions to their current position.

It comes to no surprise – and Billy _wishes_ he could be surprised, he really does – that they're currently in the middle of the woods. In the middle of winter. Looking for monsters. At night. Because of course they are.

Billy closes his eyes and wishes that that didn’t make sense.

He hears Steve sigh. “Is El with you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Henderson says, in a ‘duh’ sort of voice. “We’re not going out here without our mage. We’re not _stupid_.”

“Could have fooled me,” Billy grits out and opens his eyes. Steve throws him a smile for the comment, which somehow makes the situation seem not as dire as it had seemed three seconds ago.

“Does Hop know that she’s out there with you?”

Another pause (which means ‘no’), before Dustin’s voice comes in. “Not _technically_.”

“Of course,” Steve mutters. “Okay, new plan. You guys get back to the road, and then you fucking _stay there_ until me and Billy come and pick you up. Okay?”

“But …”

“That wasn’t a question, Henderson. I just need you to say ‘Yes, Steve, I understand. We’ll do exactly as you say’.”

There is an undoubtedly mocking quality to Dustin’s voice as he repeats the words. “ _Yes, Steve, I understand, we’ll do exactly as you say_.” It’s a terrible impression, Steve doesn’t actually sound like that.

“Good. See you soon.”

When Steve turns the walkie off, Billy can’t help himself. “God, you’re sexy when you’re ordering people around,” he says, and for a single heart-stopping moment he considers throwing himself through the window, because he can’t believe he _said that out loud_. Luckily, it came out too fast and without thinking, so it sounds like a joke. At least, Steve takes it as one.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

And Billy does, if only to distract himself from the fact that his hands are shaking. Thinking shit like that around Steve is inevitable, he’s found, but he isn’t supposed to say it out loud.

Steve pushes the walkie into Billy’s chest and digs through his jeans pockets, and then he procures his keys and throws them at Billy too. Billy barely manages to catch them with one hand while holding the walkie in the other. “What’s this?” he asks, stupidly.

Steve smirks at him. “Those are keys. Small metal things that unlock other things. You might have heard of them?”

“Fuck off, smartass.”

Steve laughs, and then he nods outside. “We’re taking my car. Check the trunk, see if everything’s there.” Billy is about to protest, make another comment about Steve ordering people around and how it’s not as sexy when it’s _Billy_ on the receiving end (which would be a lie), but then Steve adds, “I’m gonna call Hop” and Billy turns and walks outside without a word. He’d much rather root through the trunk of a car than having to be the one to tell Chief Hopper that his precious, slightly supernatural daughter is spending her Friday night in the woods, looking for trouble.

So he walks up to Steve’s car, and brushes a fine layer of snow off the trunk. It’s cold and he’s in fingerless gloves, which is not ideal when it comes to dealing with snow, but he feels hot anyway. He tells himself it’s caused by anger over Max running off, instead of a lingering warmth after hearing Steve laugh. Because he’s not a goddamn sap.

He’s seen the contents of Steve’s trunk before. They survived monster dogs together, after all, so sometimes when they hang out, those kind of topics are just naturally brought up. Steve keeps his nailed bat – which looks _so badass_ , Billy has to admit – in his room, but the trunk of his car is basically equipped for battle. The first thing he sees is a shovel, a basic first aid kit, a blanket and some chains. There’s also a flashlight, an axe and a tire iron. If someone who didn’t know about monsters looked inside, they’d nod approvingly and think that the owner of said car was simply prepared for a Hawkins winter. Steve Harrington is a very responsible car owner, is all.

Billy knows, though, that all those things were bought recently, and that Steve planned those purchases meticulously. A shovel with a pointy end, sturdy but not too heavy. A tire iron that is long, and easy to swing. Chains, because _what if_. And, Billy’s proud to say, the axe. It had been his idea to get one, when they were brainstorming one day. ‘Innocuous items that you can keep in a car that doubles as weapons’. (It had been a productive brainstorming session. “What if a tree falls across the road?” Billy had asked. “You’d need an axe to chop it up and get past it!” Steve had looked doubtful, but the next time they met up, he’d shown Billy the addition – the blade of the axe still shiny and unused – and given him a pleased grin.)

Now, Billy takes inventory of the trunk’s contents, and grabs the axe. He gets in the passenger seat and sits down, one snowy boot on the dashboard, and brushes the melted snow off his hands onto his jeans while he waits for Steve.

Steve emerges with his bat in his hands ( _so_ badass), and walks up to the passenger’s side. Billy opens the door just enough that he can throw the keys back at Steve, who walks back up to the house, locks it up, and then gets in the front seat, handing the bat to Billy.

“Right,” he says, turning the key in the ignition. “Let’s go.”

Billy takes his foot down from the dash, puts the axe and the bat over his knees (mindful of the nails) and nods. Watches his Camaro – parked on the Harrington driveway – and winces. Oh well, it can’t be helped. If anyone asks, he can always say that he parked it there to avoid the threat of someone scratching her up, and that he got a ride to the party by Steve.

Damn. He should be going to a party right now, not arm himself to go out into the woods when it’s fucking freezing outside, to find his pain-in-the-ass of a little sister.

The thought brings back the anger, and to distract himself he turns his attention to Steve, who’s keeping his eyes locked on the road ahead and looks like he’s lost in his own thoughts. Maybe Billy’s not the only one who needs a distraction.

“Has anyone told you you’ve got a _serious_ case of mother hen going on here?”

Steve huffs, but glances over. Billy stretches out as best as he can (and it’s a lot – Steve’s car is a lot more spacious than the Camaro) and makes an effort to look disinterested.

“Oh shut it,” Steve says with something knowing in his eyes. “Like you weren’t ready to run off into the woods armed with a _fork_ , if you had to, the second you heard what they were doing.”

And Billy _was_ , but he’s not about to admit that when Steve looks at him like that. “Yeah, but you do it because you _care_ about the little shits. I do it because I wanna kick their asses into next week.” (And because he maybe, _possibly_ , doesn’t want them to die.)

Steve rewards him for that comment with a knowing smile and another side glance. Billy gives up on trying to convince him. It’s a lost cause anyway.

Then Steve turns his attention back to the road. “You’re making it sound like _I_ don’t want to kick their asses on a daily basis.”

Billy huffs out a laugh. “Liar.”

Even called out on his blatant lie – they’re both terrible liars in the face of each other, it seems – Steve only gives a one-shouldered shrug. But he looks less tense, so the distraction probably worked. It feels like an accomplishment.

***

Fifteen minutes later, and Billy is the tense one. It’s hard not to be, when you’re trudging through snow up to your ankles wearing boots that are _not made_ for trudging through snow.

Surprise surprise, the kids weren’t at the road where they expected them to be. When Steve parked the car and radioed them, Dustin explained that they _were_ waiting by a road – just not the one Billy and Steve were currently on. In fact, they were, at that very moment, walking down a dirt road in the middle of the woods, because they’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and … Well, Billy had stopped listening by then. He waited for Steve to finish chewing them out for it, and when he told them to ‘stay where you are, we’re coming to you’, Billy had just sighed and buttoned up another button of his shirt against the chill.

Now, he’s silently cursing all younger siblings in the world, ever, as he walks after Steve in the woods. He’s holding the axe in one hand and a flashlight in the other. And Steve might have equipped his car with various monster-hunting gear, but he apparently didn’t plan as far ahead as to bring spare batteries. The one in Steve’s hand is working well enough, but the one that Billy’s holding – a cheap, plastic one – keeps flickering, and the beam of light is weak. Even with the moonlight, it’s not at all enough to keep him from tripping over roots and rocks, especially as everything is hidden under snow. Billy’s kind of wishing he’d taken the blanket instead of the almost useless flashlight. At least then, he wouldn’t be in danger of freezing to death.

It’s cold as balls. Or, rather, it’s colder than the inside of Susan’s fried fish (no one seems to have shared with her the concept of _defrosting_ the filets before throwing them in a frying pan, so they end up charred on the outside and frozen on the inside, every single time without fail). Billy is shivering, and watching Steve who seems insultingly unaffected by the cold in his thick scarf, a knitted hat with snowflakes on it that _should_ look dorky but instead leans towards adorable, and honest-to-God _mittens_. He’s holding his bat over his shoulder (which is why Billy stays a couple of steps behind him, as he almost blinded himself on the damn thing the last time he tripped), the (working) flashlight in the other hand, and has the walkie-talkie sticking out of his jacket pocket. He somehow manages to look both badass and comfortable at the same time. Billy’s not actually sure what he covets the most at the moment; the other boy himself, or his warm winter jacket.

Steve stops in a clearing where there are less trees and more snow to reflect the moonlight, and leans his bat against his leg. He hands Billy his flashlight with a distracted “Hold this” and Billy obediently points it to where Steve yanks off his mittens to fiddle with the controls of the walkie-talkie.

“Hop?” he says, breath coming out of his mouth in a white cloud. “Come in, Hop.”

Chief Hopper’s gruff voice comes in a couple of seconds later. “I hear ya, kid. Over.”

“Just checking in. The kids are on the wrong road. I know where it is, though, and we’re heading there now.”

“Yeah, I saw your car and the tracks, and I radioed them too. I think I know where they are, and I’m pretty sure I can get there on the old service road. I’m driving around now. Over.”

“Whoever finds them first lets the other know?”

“Sounds good. Be careful. Over and out.”

Steve stuffs the walkie back into his pocket and takes the flashlight back. Billy’s hands are frozen and he’s a little too late letting go of it. Not a lot, but it’s enough for Steve to notice. His hand shoots out to wrap itself around Billy’s.

Billy’s heart skips a beat. Are they _holding hands_? _What?_

But a second later Steve lets go of his hand and points the flashlight at Billy’s face, effectively blinding him. Billy throws his hands up to shield his eyes and lets out a string of curses that would sound a lot more threatening if he wasn’t stuttering with cold.

“You’re freezing!” Steve exclaims, and has the gall to sound surprised.

Billy valiantly resists the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he goes for the second best option: raised eyebrows and a voice dripping with sarcasm. “No shit. I ha-hadn’t noticed. It being the _middle of winter_ and a-all.” It would probably have sounded more impressive if he didn’t stammer.

Steve shines the flashlight over Billy, from his not-really-winter boots and perfectly-fitting jeans and still-unbuttoned shirt to his cool-looking but not really warm leather jacket and hat-less hair. By then, Steve almost looks offended.

“What the _fuck_ , Hargrove?”

“What?”

“Like you said, it’s the middle of winter. And you’re not even wearing gloves!”

“He-hey, I’m wearing gloves,” Billy says and wriggles his (frozen) fingers.

“They’re fingerless,” Steve says, deadpan.

“S-still gloves.”

Steve is busy untangling himself from his scarf, and only throws an annoyed glance Billy’s way. “Why aren’t you dressed better?”

And okay, that’s not exactly fair. “I’ll have you know that I d-dressed my fucking best for the occasion. The _occasion_ being a _h-house party_ , not a goddamn search party in f-freezing temperatures! Sorry I didn’t bring my monster hunting gear to a fucking high-school bash!”

Half of him wants to take out his frustrations on Steve since Steve is the only one here. The other half feels bad for raising his voice when really it was _him_ who dragged Steve into this this time, and vows to save the snarling for the kids when they find them. Feeling a little silly after his outburst, he rubs at his arms and avoids Steve’s eyes.

Steve doesn’t look offended, though. If anything, the smile he’s trying to hide under a wavering frown looks almost _fond_ , which is almost enough to warm Billy up a couple of degrees.

Almost as much as the scarf that Steve throws over Billy’s head and then proceeds to wrap around his neck. _Steve’s_ scarf. Around Billy’s neck. It’s thick and warm already (because it’s been lying against Steve’s skin until now, has been warmed up by his body heat), and smells like Steve.

Billy freezes. He has his hands full: axe, and faulty flashlight. That’s the only reason he lets Steve tie the scarf and shove the ends down his still partly open shirt, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

He _does_ protest a bit, though, when Steve throws him an evil grin and _zips up his jacket_ _as far as it’ll go_.

“Hey! Don’t cover up the g-goods!”

Steve laughs at that. “It’s just you and me, Hargrove. Who are you going to impress out here?”

And Billy _really_ doesn’t want to answer that question. So he hunches up his shoulders, buries his nose in the scarf, and scowls. “Demon dogs,” he says, lamely. If his face is red, it’s because it’s fucking cold.

His answer elicits another laugh from Steve, who makes a mocking face and coos at him. “What’s the matter, Cali boy, can’t handle not looking cool for once?”

“Fuck you, I always look cool,” Billy quips from within the knitted scarf that probably makes him look decidedly un-cool. His hands are tangled up in the knitted nightmare, too – he put the axe down so he’d be able to rip it off, but it was _so warm_ and his fingers were cold so he kind of … left them there …

“You may not look _cool_ ,” Steve continues with a glint in his eyes, “but you _do_ look pretty _cold_. Almost the same thing.” And then he grins, as if he thinks he’s being funny.

“That’s because th-this is literally hell on earth, if hell had frozen over already.” Billy’s pretty proud of that one.

“Still cold, huh?” Steve says and leans the bat against a tree. “Even with the scarf?” He takes a step closer, opens his own jacket. “Let me warm you up.” And his voice is like fucking _honey_ , even though it’s clear that he’s teasing.

Billy’s too late to react. A second later, Steve has sidestepped him and thrown his arms around him. Billy’s pressed up against Steve’s chest, and Steve’s got his arms wrapped around him, wrapping him up in his thick jacket, trapping Billy’s arms against his own chest –

– and it’s a joke, Billy _knows_ it’s a joke. This is not a friendly hug at a party, or a quick one-armed thing on the basketball court. This is a goddamn _embrace_ , and Steve is doing it to tease him. And Billy’s going to play along soon, just as soon as he catches his breath, because even though Billy could easily break out of the grip if he wanted to, he can’t bring himself to. There’s a warm scarf around Billy’s neck, a warm jacket around his shoulders and arms, and strong arms around his torso. Steve’s pressing up against him from behind and is snickering in his ear, and Billy knows that if he turns his head, his nose will touch Steve’s.

He doesn’t turn his head. But he lets himself have this moment. For a whole second, he closes his eyes (he’s turned away, Steve can’t see his face) and tries to etch everything about this into his memory. He wishes, somewhat desperately, that he wasn’t wearing a jacket – so that he would feel even more of the other boy’s warmth.

Then the moment is over. He pretends to slip on something on the ground and uses the momentum to break out of Steve’s grip. Whirling around, he just has time to put a scowl back on his face. “Asshole!”

Steve just laughs at him and zips his jacket back up. “What? You looked like you needed a hug.”

And Billy’s _not_ blushing, he’s _not_.

“You know,” Steve continues and can’t stop grinning. “Cold, and a little pathetic.”

And his joking tone breaks Billy out of his daze, finally. This is familiar, and puts him back on solid ground. “Oh that’s it, Harrington, you’re dead.” He raises his eyebrows and gives Steve a half-hearted shove that makes him stumble back a couple of steps, still laughing. Billy can’t blame him. It’s probably hard to take Billy seriously when he wouldn’t even remove his left hand from the folds of the scarf to do the pushing.

They continue on their trek through the woods. It’s dark, and Billy’s flashlight is still useless, but he can see a bit better now because instead of walking behind Steve, he’s walking next to him. They’re side by side, walking shoulder-to-shoulder between the trees. On the one hand, Billy can’t just walk in Steve’s tracks anymore, which means that his socks are already wet and his feet are freezing. On the other hand, he can glance to the side and get a glimpse of Steve in profile.

You win some, you lose some.

Billy’s glancing over at the exact moment when Steve spots the tracks. He knows it’s the exact moment, because Steve’s mouth drops open and he draws in a sharp breath. Billy follows his gaze, and there, in the cold light of the flashlight, are clear tracks in the snow.

“Shit,” Steve says.

“Maybe it’s a deer?” Billy suggests, hopefully.

“It’s not a deer,” Steve replies, voice low. Billy wants to comment – ask when Steve became an expert on animal tracks – but he doesn’t. Maybe they learn that shit in schools in Indiana or something. Whatever. Billy has never seen deer tracks, so it’s not like he’d know.

The tracks are not neat – whatever made them dragged their feet through the snow. Steve crouches down to get a better look, and Billy stands up straight and looks around them. Out into the darkness. The light from the moon shines through the branches of the trees in some places and leaves creepy-looking shadows on the snow. He can’t see anything, but he listens. Looks for movement.

“What’s the verdict, Davy Crockett? Is it a dog?”

Billy’s attempt at joking falls flat when Steve just stands up straight and turns to Billy with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “I don’t know. But it’s definitely not a deer.”

“Okay then,” Billy says and grabs his axe tighter. Because what else is there to do? “Do we … follow it, or?”

“No,” Steve says and steps over the tracks. “We get the kids and get the hell out of here.”

Billy exhales sharply and nods. That sounds like a good plan to him. The trunks of the trees and the heavy branches above their heads feels like they’re caging him in, and a part of Billy wants to turn and run. He doesn’t, of course, because he’s not a pussy. But the urge is there.

They walk in silence after that. The only sound they make is their boots in the snow and the rustle of their clothes. Even their breaths are quiet. They’re on high alert, waiting for something to emerge from the darkness and attack them. Waiting for _something_.

When they _do_ find something, it’s not what Billy expected. He was prepared for monsters, not something squishy under their feet and … whatever lies in front of them.

It’s … well, it’s not a clearing, not really, even though they can see the sky from here. The reason why they can see the sky is that the trees in front of them are … the only word that comes to Billy’s mind is ‘skeletal’. The trees look like shadows of themselves – they stand tall, but they are black and there are hardly any branches left on them. The few that are still attached look withered, shrunken. _Wrong_.

It’s like the remnants of a forest fire. A very contained forest fire.

Steve shines his flashlight over the trees. The bark glistens, like it’s covered in ice. Hesitantly, Billy reaches out with his axe and touches it to the closest dead tree. It’s not ice. When he pulls the axe back, a string of something slimy goes with it. The imagery of a fire dissipates.

The dead trees are standing in a sea of blackness. There is snow on the edges, and random mounds of white where it hasn’t been consumed by whatever has turned the ground black. Billy can see the other end of it, some fifty feet away, when Steve moves his flashlight over the area. It looks like a large tar pit, if tar pits had skeleton trees sprouting out of them.

It looks _infected_.

It is also not frozen, which it damn well _should_ be in these temperatures if it was water. Definitely not water, then.

Billy takes a step back. Looking down, he sees that he’s been standing right at the edge of it; half in the snow and half in the not-water. That’s what was squishing under their feet. He grimaces and pulls Steve back a step, too, under the guise of needing to hold on to his shoulder while he wipes his boots off on the snow.

Whatever the goo is, it leaves black marks on the snow.

He leaves his hand on Steve’s shoulder when he rights himself.

“Okay,” Steve says, as if he’s trying to make sense of what they’re looking at. Billy gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Okay.”

“We should …” Billy says, and doesn’t continue. Because what should they do? Whatever this place is, it’s _wrong_ , and he wants to get away from it. Or _burn_ it. It looks like an oil spill – maybe it’ll burn like one too?

“We should call Hop,” Steve decides and reaches for the walkie-talkie. He doesn’t let go of his bat, and again pushes the flashlight into Billy’s hands. Billy obediently takes it from him and points it so that Steve can see what he’s doing. Just as Steve is taking his mittens off, something nudges Billy’s ankle.

His first, irrational, thought is that it’s a fox or something, and he kicks out at it. It _gives_ , more than is pushed away, and he points the flashlight down, and –

At first he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at, because it doesn’t make _sense_. Then it moves and he sees a snake – a goddamn _winter snake_ or something – and instinct has him jumping about a foot in the air and then scramble back in the snow. He’s cursing and flailing even as he’s realizing that no, that’s not quite right either.

Purely by chance, his flailing has the beam of light flash over Steve’s face, and he gets to see Steve’s eyes go comically wide for a fraction of a second, probably wondering what the hell Billy is doing.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Instead of answering, shines the flashlight to the snow where he was just standing. The snake-that-isn’t-a-snake is moving along the edge of the trampled snow where Billy’s boot just was, like it’s trying to get a feel for the shape of the footprint. Light reflects off its body like it did the trees, and Billy would bet anything that if he were to nudge it with his axe, it would come away slimy, too, just like with the tree.

He follows its body with the flashlight, expecting to see some kind of … end. But there isn’t one. Instead, it grows longer, and thicker, and –

Steve lets out a gasp, and Billy realizes with a start what the not-snake reminds him of.

 _Vines_.

Fucking _vines_.

Like the ones that were in the tunnel. The ones covering the walls of the tunnel where they ran from the monster dogs. The vines that were moving, pulsating, reaching out for them … The ones that seemed to be _screaming_ when they lit the place on fire.

This one reminds him of those vines, only slick with … whatever the black goo is. Because this one? It’s coming from the tar pit.

No sooner does he realize this, than Steve’s bat comes down on the thing, smashing it into the packed snow.

“What the –?”

It doesn’t stop moving. Instead, when Steve raises the bat over his head again in preparation to hit it again, it pulls back with something like a hiss (that might just be the sounds of something wet being dragged fast against snow – _please_ let it just be the sound of something wet being dragged against snow) and disappears into the oily blackness. It doesn’t ripple, like water. It just … closes around it, and then it’s gone. Like it was never there.

Billy shines his flashlight out over the pit. Steve stands frozen with his bat over his head. Neither one of them are breathing. Everything is still, and eerily silent.

Until it’s not.

Something makes a cracking sound in the woods behind them, and both of them whirl around to face it. Billy’s moving the flashlight frantically back and fro, but there’s nothing there, nothing he can see, nothing he can fight. There are trees all around them, and despite the moonlight, the night is dark. They only have the one working flashlight, and its beam of light only reaches so far. There might still be something out there, hiding in the shadows – and knowing their luck, there probably is. Billy grips his axe tighter and takes a couple of steps forward, peering into the darkness. On high alert for anything that moves.

There’s a yelp behind him and he whirls around _again_ just as Steve goes down with an “oof”. And then a lot of things happen in quick succession. Billy watches as Steve is dragged backwards in the snow, hands grasping for purchase but still, somehow, holding on to his bat. Billy can’t see what’s dragging him but he can take a fucking guess, and he’s ready to jump over him and sever that fucking vine with the axe and chop it up into _tiny little pieces_ when something slams into him and knocks him down.

He hits the ground hard, and the layer of snow is probably the only reason he doesn’t crack his head open. A small and insignificant consolation, when Billy’s got way more important things to deal with.

Like the fucking _demon dog_ that’s clawing at his chest and is doing its best to wrap its teethed fucking face flaps around his arm. The arm holding the axe. _Fuck_.

Without a single rational thought, Billy punches it in the head. Once, twice, again and again and again until eventually, miraculously, it lets him go. Billy scrambles up, ignores the aches and pains of his body, and smashes the axe into the dog’s body. He feels the impact and hears it hiss out a strange sort of whine, and hopes that it’s enough to make it stay down, because he needs to get to _Steve_.

The flashlight is stuck at an angle in the snow a stone’s throw away, shining its light uselessly towards a tree trunk, but he doesn’t go for it. Instead he goes in the direction Steve was dragged – towards the pond, towards the blackness, towards the sounds he can hear Steve make as he fights against whatever it is.

“Steve!”

There’s a grunt in reply, but Billy doesn’t need it to know where he’s going. He can see him struggling, and when he gets closer he can see the way Steve is holding onto a tree root for dear life and kicking out with his feet. There’s something black and slimy wrapped around one of his calves, squeezing hard.

He imagines the vines wrapping themselves over each other in the tunnels, and he raises his axe.

“Stop moving,” he growls, and Steve stills. Just for a moment, but that’s all Billy needs. His axe strikes down and chops the vine off just a short distance away from Steve’s right foot. Steve doesn’t wait for Billy to strike again, he just kicks it off and gets to his feet, dragging Billy back with him.

For a couple of seconds, they’re both just standing there in the dark, breathing heavily. Steve’s clutching at Billy’s jacket and Billy’s clutching at Steve’s wrist, and “Are you okay?” is the only thing on Billy’s mind so that’s what he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, giving Billy’s chest a distracted pat.

And that is, naturally, when there’s a chittering sound to the left of them – and then to the right of them, too. Billy lets out a groan, because _of course_ there are two of the damned things.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, gritting his teeth and peering out into the dark. The moonlight paints everything a dark gray, and he can see the trees and he can see the contrast between the trees and the snow and – when it finally moves – he can see the demon dog that’s slowly advancing on them. He can feel Steve at his back – can feel it when he’s tensing up – and he knows that there’s a monster dog approaching from the other direction too. He doesn’t take his eyes off this one, though, trusting in Steve’s ability to deal with his own.

The one in front of Billy keeps its head down low, and its body is tense, as if ready to pounce at any moment. Billy readies his axe. He can take it.

“Billy …?” Steve’s voice is low and urgent and make the hairs on the back of Billy’s neck stand up.

“What?” he says, still not turning around.

There’s a sudden sound to his left, and he lets out a breath. _Fuck_. There’s _three_ of them.

“Okay,” he says, getting ready. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t die.”

That’s when the dog in front of Billy chooses to attack, and honestly, if ‘Don’t die’ was Billy’s last words he’s going to be so pissed. Somehow, he manages to catch the dog mid-lunge, although he misses its head. The axe slams into its side and he _hopes_ that the crunching sound was steel breaking demon dog ribs. It hits the ground and he goes after it, intent on severing its creepy eyeless head from its ugly emaciated body – he needs it out of commission, so he can move on to the next – when he’s knocked to the ground _again_.

He lands on his stomach and gets a faceful of snow, and it’s only luck that has him throw his arm out so he doesn’t land on his own axe. There is a monster dog on top of him, clawing at his back – he’s suddenly so, _so_ grateful for his leather jacket that may not be resistant to cold but provides extra protection against claws, at least – and in the corner of his eye, he can see the other one get up and shake its head. But he can’t move enough like this, can’t see enough to fight. With a grunt, he throws up an elbow behind him, hits the dog somewhere in the neck, and rolls over.

It’s successful in that he’s now on his back and can see what he’s fighting. The downside? He finds himself staring into the maw of a snarling monster, thousands of teeth suddenly inches from his face.

“Shit!” he yelps and somehow wrenches the handle of the axe in between himself and certain death in under a second. The dog bites down on it and _yanks_ , and it’s all Billy can to do hold on, because he _can’t lose the axe_.

Claws are aiming for his face and he twists as much as he can with a monster dog on top of him. Its claws ghost over his throat, tangles in the scarf and catches on the collar of his jacket. There is fire in its wake, and Billy knows he’s been cut. He hasn’t got time to worry about how deep it is, though, because the second dog joins the fray and _fuck_ , he’s going to die here, isn’t he?

But then he doesn’t. There’s a yell (for a second Billy thinks it’s _him_ , before he remembers that Steve’s here too) and then the dog on top of him is knocked aside and the second one changes direction and leaps _over_ him instead of _at_ him. Billy is grateful for it for a grand total of half a second, before he realizes that it means that it went for _Steve_ instead.

He rolls, intending to get up and help, but something’s squelching under him and when he looks down he’s got one elbow in black goo instead of snow, and his heart leaps to his throat because he’s in the _tar pit_ , he’s in the blackness –

Something slithers over his arm – something black and leathery against the black leather of his jacket – and he doesn’t have time to react before it wraps around his wrist and _tightens_.

He screams, and tells himself it’s anger. Pulls away, as hard as he can. It doesn’t let go, but it gives a little, allowing him to get to his knees. He leans back in an attempt to get away from it, looks around frantically for his axe, for Steve, for _anything_.

Then something else wraps around his ankle. The vine wrapped around his wrist pulls him forward at the same time, and he ends up falling into the not-water face first. And he can’t help himself, then. He panics.

Squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath, he struggles to keep his head up and away from the goo. He thrashes, kicks out with his feet when he can feel something slither up his unbound leg too. The vine around his wrist is pulling tighter, and whatever this goo is it’s trying to drag him down, and Billy _can’t let that happen_. His whole arm is in the blackness now, and if it drags him under, he’s dead.

There’s a scream close by, and instinct has Billy looking over. Steve has somehow managed to end up right in the beam of the fallen flashlight, and the scene looks like some kind of nightmare Baroque painting. Steve’s on his back in the snow, blood on his face, head thrown back and mouth open in a scream. There’s a demon dog attached to his side, _biting_ , and he’s punching at it with his hands, his bat nowhere in sight.

Billy only sees the scene for a fraction of a second, but that’s all he needs to feel a strange kind of calmness wash over him. He’s not going to die here. _They’re_ not going to die here. He won’t allow it, dammit.

He kicks out at the vine wrapped around his ankle with the heel of his boot, grunting as he pries it off. It takes his boot with it when it slides off, but that’s the least of his problems right now. Legs freed, he crawls forward, gets some leverage against the vine trying to crush his wrist, and _rips_ out of its grip. Something brushes against his hip – maybe it’s whatever’s in the blackness trying to reach for him again. He doesn’t stay around to find out.

Stumbling to his feet, he plods out of the pit. Purely by chance, he steps on something wooden on his way out, and looks down to see his axe. Good. He’s gonna need it.

Steve’s still screaming.

It is immensely satisfying to bury the axe in the back of the monster dog. It makes some kind of half-choked sound and unlatches itself from Steve, but Billy doesn’t let it collect itself. He kicks it off Steve and then raises his axe and hits it again. Again. _Again_.

It’s too dark to see if the blood that splatters over him is red, but something tells him that these things bleed black.

He doesn’t stop hitting it until it’s a dark mess at his feet, and he physically can’t raise his arm anymore. He’s panting for breath and trembling like he’s run a marathon. He’s close to collapsing in the snow, but Steve’s groaning behind him and that takes precedence.

There are no more dogs that he can see. Just to be sure, he bends down (ignoring the twinge in his shoulder) to snatch up the flashlight, shining it around them. He finds two unmoving monster dogs, not including the one he just turned into ground beef, and there are no more vines slithering out of the pond at the moment. That’ll do.

With only a little effort, he bends over Steve and shines the flashlight over him. Steve squints and throws up a hand to shield his eyes against the light, which makes Billy let out a sigh of relief. If he’s annoying Steve, then Steve’s not dying. Just to be sure, though, he asks:

“Are you dead, Harrington?”

“No, you told me not to die,” Steve answers, voice rough. He grimaces. “Unfortunately. Ow.”

He’s lost his hat and he’s bleeding from a wound somewhere in his hair. Billy can’t figure out where it comes from or how bad it is, but he knows that head wounds bleed a lot and Steve seems coherent so hopefully it’s not too bad. He’s more worried about Steve’s side. While Billy’s leather jacket protected him against the dogs’ claws, Steve was wearing a jacket made of fabric. Made to insulate and keep the cold out, sure, but with next to no protection against sharp things. His jacket is in tatters, clawed open from his left armpit and down to his hip with stuffing spilling out. There’s blood seeping through the sweater underneath, and Billy’s on his knees and ripping it up before he can think.

“Ow, _fuck_ , Billy stop it …” Steve says, trying to bat Billy’s hands away. Billy ignores him, because he needs to know how bad it is.

There are a couple of scratches and a handful of bleeding puncture wounds – probably from the thing’s teeth – but none of them seem to deep and there are no guts hanging out. Relief washes over Billy so suddenly that he’s dizzy with it, but it’s pushed to the side in favor of the anger that wells up right after.

“Are you fucking insane?” he hisses and grabs onto Steve’s arm, pulling him up (and belatedly realizing that there’s blood on Steve’s hands, too). “What the hell was that?”

Steve winces and wobbles and almost falls into Billy when he gets to his feet. Billy props him up against a tree – a normal one, not one of the nasty black dead ones – and leans closer so he can peer into Steve’s eyes to see if his pupils are dilated.

“What was … what?” Steve asks, making a face as he touches a hand to his side.

“You coming to the rescue like the hero of a goddamn movie, Harrington!” He’s so angry that he’s shaking, and maybe it’s not anger at all that he’s feeling but it’s keeping him on his feet so he’ll take it.

“You looked like you could use some help,” Steve says, leaning his head against the trunk and grinning crookedly with blood running down the side of his face, and Billy wants to hit him. Or kiss him. Or cry.

He doesn’t do any of those things. What he _does_ is unwrap the scarf from around his neck with shaking hands – it’s difficult, because the damn dog ripped it up and messed it up, so now the yarn is all tangled up – and bunch it up in his hand, trying to press it into Steve’s hand to press against his side while chewing him out the whole time.

“I was handling it! And that’s not the issue here, the issue is that you didn’t watch your fucking back –“ or rather that _Billy_ didn’t do his job and watched his back “– and didn’t keep your attention to the second damn dog, and that you got _hurt_ , and –“

And Billy’s suddenly got an armful of Steve. He freezes. Goes quiet. Blinks.

They’re both shaking, they’re shaking so hard, but Steve’s got his arms around him and is _squeezing_ him. There are bruises forming on his back, probably, from those damn dogs knocking him down, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. As if of their own accord, his arms wind up around Steve too. (Because he almost died, they almost _died_.) He leans his head against his shoulder and just breathes. Steve does the same. Short, shuddery breaths of cold air.

All of a sudden Billy can feel everything again. He can feel the cold – he’s missing a shoe, for fuck’s sake! – and the pain in his body. His head hurts, his neck hurts, his wrist is aching and he’s probably bruised to hell and back. But it’s all background noise; unimportant details in comparison to Steve’s arms around his torso and Steve’s head on his shoulder and Steve’s hair tickling his face.

Distantly, he realizes that they’re _hugging_. A real one. Also distantly, he feels like he should be freaking out about this. But honestly, if he’s going to be freaking out about anything, it’s going to be monsters from another dimension, not a … hug.

He laughs, maybe a little hysterically. Steve loosens his grip and leans back enough that he can give Billy a questioning look.

“I just,” Billy says, and doesn’t know how to continue. “You …” He takes a breath, trying to form sentences. “And you’ve f-fought these things before?” is what he comes up with. He knows that Steve has. Steve told him about the junk yard.

Steve nods.

“And you still didn’t think twice about coming out here with me?”

It’s dawning on Billy how fucking terrifying it was, to look into a maw full of a thousand teeth and expect to die. He doesn’t know if he could do it again, now that he’s felt that terror.

But then Steve shakes his head, because Steve is brave and loyal and the best person Billy’s ever met, and Billy realizes – he _would_ do it again. If Steve asked, he’d do it again.

He doesn’t say that, though. What he says, a bit sheepishly, is, “I’ve. I’ve never fought these things before.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. Steve _knows_ this already. “The last time, we just ran.” As if that explains the way he’s shaking. The way he can’t make himself step away from Steve right now.

Steve’s hand is still on his shoulder, and now he’s squeezing it reassuringly. Billy wants to melt. But then Steve’s brows furrow, and he lets go of Billy’s shoulder in favor of pulling the collar of his jacket aside.

“You’re bleeding.”

Billy knows. “So are you.”

“And what the hell is _this_?” Steve asks and pulls at a lock of Billy’s hair. A lock that’s hanging limp and heavy next to his face, covered in whatever oily goo that was in that damn tar pit. Come to think of it, Billy must be covered in the stuff. Perhaps that’s why it’s so goddamn _freezing_.

“I have no idea,” he says, truthfully, and Steve snorts. And moves his hand to Billy’s face – Billy wonders, distantly, if he’s got a cut there too or something – but before he can make contact there’s a shout somewhere in the trees.

“Steve?” That’s Hopper’s voice, and by the sound of it he’s close.

Steve draws his hand back. Billy follows the movement with his eyes and sees when Steve forms his fingers into a fist at his side.

“ _Here_!” Steve shouts back, voice rough. He clears his throat and adds, in a more normal tone of voice, “We’re over here.”

Billy reluctantly lets go of Steve – only now realizing that he’s still holding on to him – and takes the opportunity to press the bunched-up scarf into Steve’s hand. When Steve looks at him questioningly, he mutters, “You’re still bleeding.” Steve seems to get it then, pulling a non-ripped part of his sweater to cover his bleeding side before pressing the scarf to it with a wince and a hiss.

There are lights coming towards them through the trees, and soon Billy and Steve both are both blinded by several flashlights pointing at their faces. There are gasps of shock and cries and questions – apparently, Hopper had found the brats – and Billy’s feeling a bit overwhelmed. Especially when a gaggle of kids rush up to them and like three of them attach themselves to Steve immediately.

No one attaches themselves to Billy. Of course, that might be because he’s covered in Upside Down goo. That theory is confirmed when Max stops three feet away from him and wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“What the hell happened to _you_?” she says, without an ounce of compassion. It’s a relief, really, because if she’d shown any hint of compassion, Billy would have broken down. He prefers this, when he can scowl at her and reach out and smear her cheek with some of the goo that’s still on his fingers. Predictably, she swears and jumps away, but doesn’t hit at him – probably too afraid to touch any part of him that’s covered in the mess. He laughs, hoarsely, and takes it as a win.

“ _That_ fucking thing happened to me,” he eventually replies and points with his thumb over his shoulder, to where the weird tar pit is. And Steve must have gotten the same question, or something like it, because he’s pointing off to the side where the closest dead monster dog is.

That provokes more gasps and questions, and Billy has to fight against an insane urge to giggle. That urge passes pretty quickly when Chief Hopper steps up and stares down at him. And, like, Billy knows that he’s apparently a good guy who took El in and everything, but he’s also tall and big and a bit intimidating, so Billy has to plant his feet so he doesn’t step back on instinct.

“You okay, son?” Hopper asks, and Billy nods.

“Yeah.” Except for the blood and the trauma, he doesn’t say.

Hopper’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he moves past Billy and grabs Steve’s face in his hand – again, Billy has to tamper down an urge to throw himself in front of Steve or something – to take a better look at his head, which is still bleeding. He also huffs in displeasure when he notices how Steve’s pressing his hand (and scarf) against his side.

“You need a hospital?”

“No,” Steve says, at the same time as Billy say “yes”. When Steve glares at him, Billy glares right back and sends a pointed look at Steve’s ripped-up jacket.

“Jim.”

El’s voice is low, but can still be heard by them all. Some of the kids have gathered around the closest dog carcass, but El and the smallest one, Byers, are standing on the edge of the blackness, looking out across it. It makes something uncomfortable roll in Billy’s stomach, to see them stand so close.

“Hey,” he says, taking an aborted step towards them. “Be careful. There are tentacles and shit in there.”

Hopper starts at that, and looks at Billy’s appearance as if that explains everything. And honestly? Maybe it does. Still, the Chief walks over and puts one hand on El’s shoulder, and one on Will’s, and gently steers them away from it. Just in time to keep the other kids – now rushing forward to see what the fuss is about – from getting too close.

Billy’s tired. He wants to go home, curl up in his shitty bed, and sleep for a week. A glance over at Steve shows that he’s probably wishing for something similar. Billy sees the way he smiles for Henderson, and how quickly that smile falls off his face when the kid no longer watches him. Billy will bet anything that Steve’s hands are still shaking.

Billy’s are, at least.

Hopper’s mumbling something under his moustache, and crouching down at the edge of the pond, reaching a hand out to touch it.

That’s not a good idea, Billy thinks. “Uh,” Steve says, obviously of the same mind. But too late – a vine breaches the surface of the blackness, aiming for Hopper’s hand. Hopper swears and yanks his arm back, loses his balance and falls down on his ass in the snow. He’s up in a heartbeat, drawing his gun and pointing it at where the vine is slowly pulling back into the goo.

“What _is_ that?” one of the kids asks.

“Vines,” Henderson says, just as Wheeler says “Tentacles”. And just when they start to argue who is right, El shuts them all down when she simply says, “Bad.”

That pretty much sums it up, yeah. Billy inches closer to Steve when everyone’s attention is on the pit, and nudges his shoulder with his own. It sends a twinge of pain down his own arm, which he ignores.

“Hey,” he says, under his breath.

“Hey.”

They watch Hopper try to herd the kids for a couple of seconds, then Steve looks down and huffs out a laugh. “Where’s your shoe?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says. “Somewhere down there.” And he points at the pit. Steve looks at where he’s pointing, and then he’s laughing. He’s laughing a _lot_. And it’s not really funny because Billy’s standing here in the _snow_ only wearing a wet sock after having some monster from another dimension steal his shoe and try to kill him, but to his amazement laugher bubbles out of his mouth as well.

Soon, they’re standing there, leaning against a tree and each other, just about wheezing with laughter. Someone – Henderson, it turns out – blinds them with a flashlight and comments, “What’s so funny?” and really, _nothing’s_ funny but Billy still can’t stop laughing. Beside him, Steve’s gasping for breath between giggles, and he’s got one arm slung over Billy’s shoulder (the one that doesn’t hurt) and is bent over so Billy can only see the back of his head.

He wants to run his fingers through all that hair. He would, too, if he had a hand free. And if Steve wasn’t bleeding.

Their giggles are dying down when there’s a tremble in the ground. Billy sobers quickly, and his head whips around, fully expecting some kind of nightmare final boss monster to emerge from the depths of the tar pit or something. Before he can react, he finds himself pushed back against the trunk of the tree. Steve’s standing in front of him, effectively _shielding him with his body_. Billy gapes.

“What the hell?” he huffs and pushes off the tree. Shouldering Steve to the side, he moves next to him so he can glare at him. It does nothing to make Steve back down, although he does look a little sheepish – as if he hadn’t realized what he was doing. “Did you just –“ _try to protect me_ “– step in front of me?”

“Uh, no?” Steve says, unconvincingly, and sways on his feet as if to prove Billy’s point.

“Good,” Billy says, and then finally turns to look at what everyone else is staring at.

The kids are huddled in a group a couple of steps away – all except for El. She’s standing at the edge of the blackness, one hand out towards its center. Billy wants to pull her back, because it’s not _safe_ , but Hopper is standing behind her. If the Chief thought it was unsafe for her, he would stop her, right? He’s the one with the gun.

The earth trembles again. Billy throws his hands out to steady himself and it just so happens that Steve is the closest thing there, so naturally, Billy grabs onto him. And then he watches in amazement as the trees – the ones standing in the tar pit, the dead ones – shakes as if someone was trying to chop them down. The black surface of the not-water ripples.

There’s movement in several places. Vines, tentacles, whatever they are, breaches the surface and slithers up the closest tree, or out into the snow, or even towards El. El doesn’t seem to see it, and if she does, she doesn’t care. She stays unmoving, hand out as if she’s trying to physically stop the darkness from spreading.

With a rumble, something even darker than the blackness opens in the middle of the pit. It looks like … like a hole, and as Billy watches it grows bigger.

“What the hell …?” he breathes. It’s not a question, he doesn’t expect any answers. Steve squeezes his hand anyway, and _since when are they holding hands_?

The hole widens, and the dead tree that’s closest to it shudders before it folds over and starts leaning. Soon, it’s sinking. By then, another tree has started tilting.

One by one, the dead trees shake and sink. They all tilt inwards, and some of them almost fall before being swallowed up by the hole. The hole that, when Billy pays closer attention, isn’t a hole at all. It’s darker than the pond, but there’s something moving in it.

 _Dirt_ , he realizes. It’s the ground, turning itself over and swallowing up the wrongness – dead trees and oily goo and writhing vines alike. There’s a smell like wet earth, and it feels out of place in the cold winter air because it reminds Billy of autumn, after the rain.

As the earth upends itself, El is standing tall, unwavering, arm outstretched. Billy can only see her back, but the hairs on the back of his neck stand up because he’s heard about what she can do but he has never witnessed it. What he witnesses now? Is beyond what should be possible.

Trees fall, the ground shakes, and somewhere – simultaneously far away and way too close – something screeches. It sounds like it’s coming from the earth itself. Billy raises his axe without thinking, lets go of Steve’s hand so he can grip it tightly. But nothing comes for them. Instead, El screams – louder than the screech – and with a cracking sound, the final trees on the outskirts of what was once the pit falls and disappears.

Everything stills. It’s like none of them dare to breathe or make a sound. Then El collapses on the ground.

Hopper rushes towards her and crouches at her side, and the kids are quick to gather around the both of them. Billy and Steve move forward too, but as the others’ attention is on El, Billy’s concentrating on where the tar pit was.

The area is still black, but now there are no trees there. No oily goo. No patches of snow. Just – he walks over to it and bends down, shoves his hand into it (because apparently he has run out of self-preservation). And it’s just earth. Cold, damp earth.

He stands up and looks out across the area. He can see the sky above them now, with no trees shielding it. The sky is vast, and littered with stars. The moon looks small compared to everything that lies beyond it. It’s beautiful.

“Billy.”

He turns. Steve nods his head to indicate something behind them. There are dark patches in the snow where the dead demon dogs lay, as if they too were swallowed by the earth. A part of Billy breathes a sigh of relief that they’re gone, and another part of him is freaked out about what he just saw a little girl do with her _mind_.

“Wow,” he says, simply.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees.

Whatever weirdness was in the air here before is gone now. Everything feels normal, or as normal as things can feel after something like this. Billy is _freezing_. He’s shivering with cold and he’s hurting and there’s a long way back to their car and the mere thought of walking there makes him want to break down and cry.

Hopper has picked El up in his arms, and now he’s walking towards them.

“You boys okay?” he asks, again, like the responsible adult he obviously tries to be.

In his arms, El is lying limp with her eyes closed and blood running down her face from a nosebleed. Billy winces when he sees her.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “El, is she …?”

Hopper looks down at the girl in his arms, and his eyes soften. “She’s going to be okay.” He makes it sound like fact, even though he can’t possibly know that.

“Okay but we can’t stay here,” Wheeler says, pushing his way past Hopper so he can check on El. “She needs … like, medical attention or, or … rest, or _something_!”

No one seems to have any objections. So they leave the newly formed clearing behind, and follow Hopper through the trees. Apparently, he drove around and parked on a road on the other side, which is closer to this place than Steve’s car. Besides, as Hopper tells them, his truck is big enough to fit them all if the kids squeeze in tight.

The Chief walks in the front, carrying El. Wheeler fusses over her, and little Byers is following them like a duckling. Henderson, meanwhile, is busy fussing over Steve, making Steve lean on him to make it easier for him to walk – he _is_ limping a bit, but Billy’s pretty sure most of it is to humor the kid. Max doesn’t offer any kind of support, but she hovers near Billy and provides snarky commentary, which is how Billy know she secretly cares. Sinclair flutters between all of them, seemingly undecided on where to focus his attention. In the end he gravitates towards little Byers, especially when Steve and Billy start scolding the kids for pulling this stunt.

“I _honestly_ don’t understand what you were thinking,” Steve says, between clenched teeth. Billy can’t tell if he’s gritting his teeth against the pain, the cold, or simply because he’s angry.

“We wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything Upside Down related going on,” Henderson says, “and guess what – there was!”

“Yeah, no shit,” Billy interjects and points to Steve’s side. “I think we n-noticed that when some fucking demon dogs used us as ch-chew toys just now!” He ends it with a scowl, because he doesn’t sound very threatening when his teeth are chattering.

“Demodogs,” Henderson says.

“ _What_?”

“They’re called demodogs. Not demon dogs.”

Billy huffs out a breath of disbelief and doesn’t notice that he’s moving until Max stands in his way, blocking his path and stopping him from strangling the kid. He growls instead, “Yeah, they look like dogs from hell so I think I’ll just call them demon dogs, thanks.”

“But that’s not what they’re _called_.”

“Listen, kid,” Billy growls, “I killed at least one of those things tonight and that’s one more than you so I think if anyone gets to decide what to call them, it’s me.”

Henderson juts his chin out. “Well in that case Steve should get to name them because he’s killed more than you!”

They both turn to Steve, expectantly. “Demon dogs sounds good to me,” he says, without looking at any of them. Henderson looks betrayed, and something warm spreads in Billy’s chest, making him grin.

The forest is just as dark as before, but there are more people with flashlights now so Billy just has to concentrate on not falling over. That is harder than it should be, as his left foot is so cold that he’s lost feeling in it. He keeps slipping on roots and stuff that is hiding under the snow, and every time he loses his balance, he tenses, and something hurts. When they finally reach Hopper’s car, he just wants to slide into the seat and hope that Chief has the good sense to turn the heat up.

Hopper makes them wait outside while he gingerly puts El in the passenger seat and straps her in. Not until she’s settled does he walk around the car, open the door to the driver’s side and folds the seat forward.

“Okay,” he says. “Get in.”

The kids pile in without too much complaining, Steve ducks his head and gets in after them (with a grunt of pain that Billy might be the only one to hear), and Billy squeezes in last. There is a tiny bit of space next to Steve, and Billy can’t really fit in there if he’s sitting down. Instead, he contorts his body so that he’s pressing up against the side of the car, and hopes that it’s a short drive.

Steve looks at him as if he’s grown a second head. “What are you doing?” And even the kids are giving him weird looks.

“What do you mean?”

Steve sighs. “Just …” And then he tugs at Billy’s right arm and pats his own lap expectantly. Billy doesn’t get it at first, but when he does, he shakes his head.

“No way, Harrington, you’re injured.”

“So are you.”

“Not a lot.”

Steve pokes at Billy’s clavicle, where the demon dog clawed him, and he hisses. Steve smiles, like he’s proved his point, and pats his lap again.

“I’m not sitting in your lap. I’m gonna hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Steve says. And the way he says it – the way it just flows across his tongue as if he couldn’t imagine Billy hurting him, ever – is what makes Billy give in. He maneuvers himself so that he’s sitting on Steve’s thighs, and grabs the seat behind Steve’s head with his good arm so that he can avoid putting any unnecessary pressure on any other part of Steve’s body than his legs.

Sinclair pokes at Billy’s sock-clad foot – making Billy grit his teeth, because even though he’s so cold he’s afraid he’s going to end up losing some toes, the touch _stings_ – and asks, “What happened to your shoe?”

And, like, Billy’s _not in the mood._

“A demon dog ate it,” he lies, partly to shut Sinclair up and partly for the satisfaction of seeing Henderson huff at him for calling them ‘demon dogs’.

“You kids okay back there?” Hopper asks from the front as he starts his car.

“Peachy,” Steve says, and Billy huffs out a laugh and braces himself against the roof of the car when it starts moving. His shoulder gives a twinge, and he grimaces.

They drive along the small gravel road for a while, and Billy internally curses at every bump in the road that makes Steve wince. He doesn’t say anything because he knows that Steve doesn’t want to draw attention to it, but he breathes easier when they turn out onto asphalt.

Eventually, they end up at where Steve parked his car. Hopper gets out and pulls the seat up so they can get out. Billy exits, but when Steve gets out, Hopper places a firm but gentle hand on his chest.

“Now son. Do you need medical attention?”

Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. “No,” he says, trying to go past him, but Hopper doesn’t let him leave.

“I’m serious, Steve. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“You’re not holding up _any_ fingers!”

Hopper grabs a flashlight from the door of his car and turns it on. Not caring about Steve’s protests, he turns his head to the side to get a good look at Steve’s head, where the blood is coming from. It’s not bleeding a lot anymore, and Steve swats his hand away with annoyance rather than a pained grimace, so Billy’s actually not all that worried. Not about the head wound, at least.

Hopper hums gruffly before moving on to Steve’s side, again totally disregarding any protests. He grimaces in sympathy when he sees the claw marks.

“They’re not too deep,” he says. “But you should definitely get them looked at. Disinfected, bandaged properly. I don’t know. It might need a couple of stitches.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Steve says, but it’s all bluster. In the light of the flashlight, Billy can see how pale he is. So can Hopper. He looks from Steve to Billy, and back at Steve.

“U-huh,” he says. “Sure.”

Then he turns his flashlight at Billy, making Billy screw his eyes shut. That’s why he doesn’t notice Hopper taking a step forward and pulling the collar of his jacket, and his ruined shirt, aside.

“Hm,” Hopper says. “This might need stitches too.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“It’ll scar, otherwise.”

“Chicks dig scars.”

That makes Hopper sigh deeply, and drag a hand over his face. Billy almost feels bad. He’s not trying to be a pain in the ass – it’s obvious that the man is trying to do his best here, but it’s _also_ obvious that what he really wants to do is take his super-powered unconscious daughter home. Billy’s not going to stand in the way of that. Besides, what he wishes for most right now is to just stumble into bed. So he says, “Ugh, fine. We’ll go to the hospital. Get checked up before going … back.”

Hopper looks up, surprised. As if he expected more of a struggle. But he nods.

“Good. Great. Thanks.” He actually looks relieved, before continuing, “I’ll drive the kids home. It’s not that late. We’ll think of something to tell their parents.”

Billy winces at this. It may not be very late, but it’s way past Max’s curfew, and Susan may have been prepared to cover for him with Neil, but there’s no way she’s managed to stall for this long. Billy’s in for it, when he gets home.

“Billy?” Max peers out from behind Steve, and for the first time tonight she looks worried. It makes him want to laugh. “Aren’t you going home too?”

He motions down at himself – bleeding and beat up and covered in some kind of grime, with ripped clothes and a missing shoe. “You think I can go home like this? How do you think that would go, Max?”

She bites her lip and goes all quiet – she _knows_ what would happen if he went home in this state – and then she gets a determined look in her eyes and says, “We’ll say that I was at Jane’s house, they like her.” And, like, that would usually work because both their parents seem to be over the moon that Max has a friend that isn’t a boy, but still Billy shakes his head.

“You left a note saying you were at Henderson’s.”

Frowning, Max lets out a tiny growl of frustration. Billy can practically see the wheels in her head turning. It looks like it hurts.

Then Henderson sticks his head out of the car, too, and pipes up, “Maybe my mom had to go somewhere, and then we all went to El’s?”

Billy scowls at him at first for interjecting, but then Max lights up and continues, “Yeah, and we forgot about the time. And, like, then I got a ride home. And, and you didn’t know where to look, because when you came to Dustin’s house no one was there, and there was no one to ask …”

Billy perks up. He can work with this. “So I went around and looked for you at some of your friends’ houses. But you weren’t at any of the places I checked.”

“Yeah!” Max says, brightly. “So I’ll go home and pretend I didn’t see you, and you’ll go to the hospital with Steve and call home later and say that you’ve looked _everywhere_ and that you _can’t find her_ …” She does a really bad impression of Billy – he’s not that whiny, thanks – but he forgives her, because this is actually a pretty good idea. Man, if he’d lied like that at her age? It would have saved him a lot of trouble.

Steve and the kids are watching them as they hash out the details of this plan, but none of them interjects. Hopper looks a bit suspicious, but he says nothing. Billy’s grateful.

After extracting another promise out of Steve that he’ll check in in the morning, Hopper ushers Max back into the truck. Steve gives the kids a wave and another stern look through the window of the car and a “We’ll talk more about your horrible decisions later!” and then the Chief and the kids drive off and leave Billy and Steve alone at the side of the road.

Steve gets in the driver’s seat of the BMW, and Billy gets in on the other side. He closes his eyes, exhales, and just … sits there for a while. Mind blessedly blank.

It takes him a couple of seconds to notice that Steve hasn’t started the car. He turns, and opens his mouth to say something – make a comment about ‘anytime today, Harrington’ maybe – but the words die in his throat. Steve is staring straight ahead, both hands clenched around the steering wheel. He’s _trembling_ , and his eyes are wet.

_Shit._

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy says, voice soft. “Steve, man. It’s okay, hey.” He reaches out with one hand, and hesitates. Puts it on Steve’s thigh, and pats it awkwardly. Notices, but says nothing, when a tear makes its way down Steve’s face.

A minute ago, Steve was berating the kids for running out into monster-infected woods by themselves like a protective mama bear, and now … now he’s crying. It’s like he was just waiting for them to leave, so he could break down. And it’s like a punch to Billy’s chest, that Steve choses to break down in front of him.

Because Steve _trusts_ him.

The realization has Billy reaching out again without thinking, and gritting his teeth against the sudden pain in his shoulder at the movement. Frustrated, he fumbles for the door and pours out of the car. He rounds the front of the it and almost slips on a hidden patch of ice in his hurry to get to the other side, where he wrenches the door open and leans in to wrap his arms around Steve. He can barely feel his fingers, but he laces them together over Steve’s bicep and buries his face in Steve’s hair, not caring if he gets blood on his face. He’s got worse things on his face since his pratfall into Upside Down goo anyway.

“Hey,” he says again, giving Steve a squeeze. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

Steve, who initially tensed up as if he didn’t know what to do, goes boneless at this, and lets Billy pull him close. Lets out an honest-to-god _sob_ and tries, belatedly, to hide it behind wet laughter. “I don’t think I’m okay, Billy.”

“Shit,” Billy breathes out. He leans back and lets his eyes roam over Steve in the front seat. Is he bleeding out? Did Billy just let Hopper drive away and leave him with a _dying Steve_? He fumbles with Steve’s torn-up jacket, trying to _see_. “What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”

“No, no,” Steve says and bats his hands away. “I mean … just, with the whole thing …” He gestures vaguely around them, indicating … well, _everything_.

And _oh_.

“Oh,” Billy says, because that’s a different thing altogether. A different kind of hurt. Not one he is very adept at fixing, either. “Yeah, me neither.” He squeezes Steve closer and ignores how this position makes him ache, makes him feel like he’ll freeze in place. “But he-hey, we survived, right? We k-killed those dogs. We lived to see another day, and that has to be worth something.”

Steve extricates himself from Billy’s grip so he can look at him. He looks anguished; terrified at the thought of what could have happened. “But we almost _didn’t_!”

Without thinking, Billy cups Steve’s cheek with his hand. “But we did,” he says, softly. “We _did_.” Steve is warm (Billy never wants to let go). His cheek is wet. Billy absent-mindedly swipes at it with his thumb. “Look at us, Steve. We’re alive, all of us are alive. And th-those demon dogs are not. Because we killed them. Because we’re a couple of badasses. Yeah?” Great motivational speech, ruined by chattering teeth.

Steve huffs out a laugh despite himself. “Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else for a while, only leans further into Billy’s touch. Billy swallows. Steve is still shivering. Billy isn’t certain it’s because of the cold.

After a while, Billy puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder instead and gives a little squeeze before straightening up and stretching. Something pops in his back, and he suppresses a groan.

“Was that your spine?” Steve murmurs, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Possibly,” Billy says.

“Thought you said we were _okay_.” It’s a weak attempt at a joke, but it’s better than tears and shaking.

“Maybe not at a- a hundred percent yet,” Billy says and makes a face, just to see Steve give a little smile. Then he nods to the road ahead. “Come on, let’s go to the hospital. Check out that head wound of yours.”

That makes Steve groan and lean his forehead against the steering wheel. “I fucking hate hospitals.”

Billy hates them too, but. “Yeah, but they are _warm_.”

“My house is warm, too.”

Billy hesitates. He would rather skip the hospital too, to be honest, but while he’s not too worried about himself – he’s had worse – Steve’s got blood on his face and Billy knows that head wounds are not to be messed with. Also Steve got _chewed_ on.

Steve looks a little more alive now, though, at the possibility of not having to go to the hospital. “I mean. We could just … go to my place. Patch up and … I don’t know. If we need to, we could go to the hospital tomorrow? Maybe?”

He looks so hopeful – he really doesn’t want to go, it seems – and Billy’s not strong enough to fight him. Especially since all he wants to do is get someplace warm and wrap himself in like a thousand layers of blankets. “Okay, fine. We go to your house first. See how it goes. We can always go to the hospital later if we need to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says. “Besides, my place is closer.”

“And you have a shower, right?”

“I have two showers. And a bathtub.”

“Blankets?”

“ _So_ many blankets, Hargrove. And down pillows. Quilts. _Duvets_.”

“Mmm,” Billy moans, and makes a show out of biting his lip. “Yeah, talk warm things to me, baby … Tell me more about them _quilts_.”

That draws a laugh out of Steve, and Billy play-punches him in the arm. Steve tries to catch his fist, but his hands are still shaking, which makes Billy sober a bit.

“Are you g-gonna be okay to drive?”

And Steve takes a shuddering breath, grimaces a little and goes, “Probably not.” He frowns down at Billy’s socked foot, which Billy’s trying to keep away an inch above the snow without being too obvious about it. “Are you?”

“I’ve driven barefoot before, Harrington.” And he has. Even though it was summer back then and he had sand between his toes instead of frostbite.

Steve shrugs, though. He gets out of the car and gestures to the seat with a flourish. “Fine. She’s all yours. Treat her nicely.”

“I _always_ treat the ladies nicely.”

Steve huffs. “I’ve heard the rumors, thanks. Do I have to worry that my car will be gone one morning and find it over at Cherry Lane?”

“Nah,” Billy says, and watches as Steve limps around the car to get to the other side. “I would never cheat on Lenore.”

“Who the hell is Lenore?”

“My car, dumbass!”

“You named your car _Lenore_?”

“So what? What did your name yours?”

Steve stalls by putting on his seatbelt and making sure the door is closed and then dusting off the dashboard a bit. But Billy sits with his hand on the key in the ignition and refuses to turn it until Steve glances over. Billy raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Well?”

“… K.I.T.T.”

Billy grins. “Knight Rider fan, huh?”

“Shut up.”

***

Billy hasn’t driven Steve’s car before, but she runs smoothly. More importantly – it gets warm fast. He turns up the heat as far as it will go and has to resist shuddering in pleasure when warm air starts blowing out of the vents.

He gets them to Steve’s house in one piece, and only hesitates for a couple of seconds before opening the door and getting back out in the cold night air. Then he hurries out of the car and to the other side in time to hold the door open for Steve, all gentleman-like.

“Wow. Looks like chivalry ain’t dead, after all.”

“Oh is that what we’re calling them now?” Billy says, playing dumb. “I’m pretty sure we killed three of them today.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“I know, I’m hilarious.”

Steve pushes Billy a little, just enough for him to stumble, but his hands are steady when he does it and he looks less like he’s about to have a breakdown, so Billy doesn’t mind.

They get inside, and while Steve goes directly into the bathroom, Billy stays out in the hallway. There’s a radiator on the wall under the clothes hangers, and Billy leans into it and closes his eyes. And the floor – oh fuck the _floor_! He knew the Harringtons were rich, but he has never realized that they have _heating_ under the tiles in the hallway before. Warmth seeps into his wet sock, and he kicks off his one remaining boot and just _stands_ there. It’s enough to make him weak in the knees. He’s busy considering the merits of just lying face down on the tiles and _staying there_ when Steve calls his name.

Somewhat reluctantly, he leaves the heat of the radiator behind and goes into the bathroom. It’s the big one, the one with a bathtub. Steve doesn’t look up when Billy enters; he’s in the middle of unpacking things from what looks like a ridiculously over-stocked first aid kit and placing the items on the side of the sink. Billy can’t stop the snort of amusement that escapes him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Billy says. “Just. You know. You’re a man of many faces.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve straightens up with a wince, which reminds Billy that they’re both still hurt. And that that needs to be taken care of. He tries to take the first aid kit from Steve, but Steve holds it out of reach – grimacing even more when it pulls on his side – and points to the tub. “You. Shower before you do anything else.”

“I can –“

“No. You’re covered head to toe in stuff we don’t know what it is. You’re getting clean before you touch _anything_.”

Looking down at himself, Billy has to admit he has a point. Why tempt fate with unknown substances from another dimension possibly getting into his bloodstream? So he fumbles to get his jacket open with fingers that are still a bit stiff from all that time in the cold. Finally gets out of it and drops it on the floor – it hits the tiles with an off-putting _splat_. He hesitates a bit, then. The tub is _right there_ , and Steve is _also_ right there, and …

He tells himself it doesn’t matter – they’ve showered together after school for months now, so this is hardly a new thing – and reaches for the buttons of his shirt. He turns around, though.

Turns out that undressing in the same bathroom as Steve gets easier when Steve is shedding layers of clothing, too. Billy can hear him struggle out of his own jacket, and he has to will himself not to turn around.

He’s been dreaming about watching Steve strip for months now. Somehow, even after the tunnels, it never occurred to him that the scenario might involve blood and monster goo.

When he’s naked, he leaves his clothes on a pile on the floor and gets in the tub, a little unsteadily. It’s big and fancy, and the shower curtain is some kind of flowery designer shit so it doesn’t reach all across the length of the tub. Billy pulls it about halfway out, grabs the detachable showerhead and promptly sits down. He doesn’t want to risk losing his balance and smash his head open on the towel rack or something, because that would be downright _embarrassing_ after surviving actual monsters.

Before turning the water on, he takes his foot between his hands and just holds it. Tries to warm it a little between his hands. His whole foot prickles unpleasantly, as if it’s filled with angry ants, but he guesses that’s a good thing. He pokes his toes and is only a little numb at the tip of his big toe. He promptly decides that it’ll be okay, and turns the water on.

The water is warm, but it feels boiling hot on his skin, and he hisses. Suddenly Steve is there, at the edge of the tub, taking the showerhead from his hands.

“Hey!” Billy says and can’t resist glancing to the side, where Steve pushed the shower curtain aside. He is currently kneeling by the side of the tub, shirtless. His side has stopped bleeding, but it looks gnarly. “I can do it, you’re injured too.”

“There’s blood on the back of your head,” Steve says, simply, and doesn’t move away. He fiddles with the shower so the water goes from scalding to only warm on Billy’s skin, and then he gently moves the showerhead over Billy’s neck and up in his hair.

It stings, and Billy remembers the demon dog that was clawing at his back when he was face down in the snow. But he doesn’t want to think about that now. Not when he’s finally safe. Not when he’s getting warmer by the second. Not when Steve Harrington is rinsing the filth out of his hair, carding through it with gentle fingers, trying to untangle the curls.

Billy puts his arms around his knees, closes his eyes and starts counting. He gives himself to the count of eight – eight seconds of indulging in this moment – before he opens his eyes again, swallows, and reaches up for the showerhead.

“Thanks,” he says, so low Steve might not hear him over the running water. “I’ve got it.” Steve nods, and plants himself on the lid of the toilet. Leans his head back and closes his eyes.

Billy showers, and he lets himself look for as long as Steve keeps his eyes closed.

When he’s done – when the water that runs down his body is clear of blood and grime – he turns it off and flicks some water on Steve’s face. “Wake up, pretty boy. Your turn.”

Steve groans, but gets up and starts tugging off his pants. Billy hurriedly steps out of the tub and grabs the closest towel from a shelf, runs it over his face and hair before wrapping it around his waist. Steve steps into the shower and turns it on, and only belatedly reaches out and pulls on the shower curtain. Billy can still see glimpses of him when he moves, but instead of watching him, Billy resolutely stares at his pile of discarded clothes on the floor. There is no way in hell he’s putting those on again. He wants to burn them – preferably right here. He wonders if Upside Down goo will even burn, and then starts thinking about the way Mrs. Harrington would probably complain if he lit something on fire in her bathroom. It makes him laugh.

“What?” Steve says, and turns the water pressure down so he can hear Billy better.

Billy accidentally glances over, sees a flash of pale and mole-dotted skin, and chokes on his laughter. “Nothing.”

They stay silent for a while after that. While Steve finishes his shower, Billy stands in front of the mirror and assesses the damage. The claw mark down his neck and collarbone started bleeding again in the shower, so he dabs another towel – stolen from the shelf behind him – at it while trying not to grimace. He’s got bruises on his chest and – he sees, when twisting around to look over his shoulder in the mirror – his back. His right forearm feels tender from where the damn dog chewed on him, but it would have been much, much worse if he hadn’t been wearing his leather jacket.

He eyes the pile of clothes on the floor, suddenly feeling a little bad. Maybe he doesn’t have to burn the jacket. Maybe he can clean it, somehow. It _did_ save him from the worst of the damage, after all.

There’s a weird-looking bruise around his left wrist from where the vine wrapped around it, and red marks around his ankle from the other vine. And when he feels around the back of his neck, he can feel a claw mark there, too.

But that’s it. Considering he was fighting actual monsters from another dimension, he thinks he got off pretty easy.

Steve climbs out of the shower, and Billy turns away, swallowing. Blindly, he reaches behind him for a towel to hand the other boy, and refuses to let his eyes wander in the mirror. When Steve is decent, Billy sits him down on the toilet again and tilts his head so that he can take a proper look at the cut on his head. It’s about an inch above his ear, and Billy’s relieved to see that it’s not deep, because he’s not sure how he would go about putting stitches in. He doubts Steve would let him shave his hair. He presses a bunched-up bandage to the wound and wraps it around Steve’s head to keep it there, making it look like the world’s ugliest headband.

The most important injury dealt with, he takes one of Steve’s hands in his own. He’s got scratches on his palms and several broken nails – some of which have been bleeding. Billy remembers that he was dragged, and that he was holding on for all that he was worth. It’s … impressive. Billy has never held on to something to the point of him being bloody and broken.

Then again. If he’d been holding on to _Steve_ , then maybe his fingers would be bloody, too.

When he’s checked for breaks (all fingers are whole, thankfully) and slapped on a couple of bandaids, he moves to Steve’s side, but Steve throws up a hand to stop him.

“No, I can …” He angles his body away, slightly. “I can do it.”

“You sure?” Billy asks.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

And it doesn’t seem to be because Steve doesn’t want Billy near him – Steve’s face is a little red, so maybe he’s embarrassed to have someone else do things for him. Billy can relate to that.

They proceed with cleaning their own wounds; Steve while sitting on the toilet, still, and Billy leaning on the sink, using the mirror to see what he’s doing. They both hiss when they use disinfectant, and they shoot each other a smile at that.

“Who has so much shit in their first aid kit anyway?” Billy says after a couple of minutes, while biting off pieces of tape to use for attaching the dressing to his skin.

Steve gives him a _look_. “Someone who fights monsters, that’s who.”

“Oh yeah. Touché.”

When they’re done, Steve stands up, patting the bandage on his side – “As good as it’s gonna get!” – and immediately makes a face as if he regrets it. Billy laughs and turns to leave – ignoring the pile of clothes still on the floor – but Steve’s hand on his bicep stops him.

“You’ve got –“ Steve says, and touches the nape of Billy’s neck, where apparently there’s another claw mark. _Oh yeah_ , Billy had forgotten about that. “Stand here, I’m just gonna …” Steve trails off and reaches for the disinfectant and a cotton ball without waiting for a reply.

Billy lets him. He stands in front of the mirror and watches Steve – standing behind him – in the mirror.

“Um,” Steve says and frowns with the bottle in one hand and the cotton in the other. He frowns at Billy’s hair.

“Oh.” Grabbing his own hair, Billy wraps it into a kind of bun and holds it up with his good arm, out of Steve’s way. He flinches when Steve starts cleaning the wound.

“Sorry!” Steve says and pulls his hands back, watching Billy worriedly in the mirror. Billy feels himself go warm.

“No, no problem. I was surprised, is all.” Because he’s not about to admit that it wasn’t the sting of disinfectant that made him flinch, but Steve’s fingers on his skin. Steve continues his ministrations, seemingly unaware of the way Billy’s skin prickles.

“Billy?”

Billy looks up. “Yeah?” Steve’s standing behind him and staring intently at where he’s cutting off a strip from a roll of bandaids.

“What did you mean, I have many faces?” He keeps his eyes downcast.

“Oh,” Billy says, and shifts positions. Some of his hair escapes his hold, and he tries to grab it between two fingers. “Just that, you know.”

“What?”

“ _King_ Steve,” Billy says and grins at the glare Steve shoots him through the mirror. “Babysitter. Monster hunter. Boy scout. Keg king.” He raises his eyebrows meaningfully. “ _Nurse_.”

Steve breathes out harshly and refuses to look up. His cheeks are pink. It’s adorable.

“I don’t …” he starts, and resolutely presses the bandaid to Billy’s neck. “I’m not all that. I’m just Steve.”

And that won’t do. Billy turns around and catches Steve’s wrist in his hand. They’re standing close together, too close, barely a hand’s width between them. Billy looks at Steve, willing him to _get it_.

“I’ve known you for months now,” he says. “There’s no _just_ about you.”

For a second, he wonders if that was the wrong thing to say. If he crossed a line, somehow. Because that’s not what friends say to each other, is it? That’s not what –

Whatever’s whirling around in his mind goes quiet when Steve puts his hand on his face. The touch is gentle, and his hand is warm. The bandaids on his fingers scratch at Billy’s hairline, and he leans into the touch unconsciously. His own hand comes up to touch at the hair just above the bandage on Steve’s head, and this is it. This is the moment they won’t be able to come back from if they go through with it. This is –

They kiss. It’s soft, and quiet, and so different from any scenario that Billy could have come up with. There is no adrenaline. No one is dying. It isn’t followed by a stab of panic, or guilt. It’s just the two of them, in Steve’s downstairs bathroom, standing close. Holding each other’s faces. Nipping at each other’s lips.

It feels … right. Like finding a comfortable position in a couch and settling down, surrounded by warmth and softness. It’s simultaneously _less_ and _more_ than Billy could have ever imagined.

When they stop, they stay close. Eyes closed, just breathing in each other’s spaces, and it doesn’t feel like an ending. Billy doesn’t want it to be an ending. Doesn’t want it to stop. If he could, he would live his entire life in this moment.

He leans his forehead against Steve’s, and swallows. It sounds loud, in the stillness, but it breaks the spell. He blinks his eyes open, and licks his lips. Imagines that he can taste Steve on them, still.

“Okay,” Steve says, “that was …”

“That was good,” Billy decides. Because it was.

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiling. And that smile, that small little smile, manages to warm Billy up better than the shower did. It spreads from inside and out, until he can feel it darken his skin. Steve’s smile widens and his eyes crinkle with mirth.

“Are you _blushing_?” He sounds delighted.

“No,” Billy lies, smiling, and refuses to look away.

“Of course not,” Steve snickers. “Billy Hargrove is too cool for blushing. What was I thinking?”

“It’s the cold,” Billy declares, unable to wipe the grin off his face.

“Mmm, yeah. It’s very cold in here. The heating just isn’t cutting it, I know.”

The Harringtons have heated floors in their bathroom too. It’s nice and warm in here.

“Yup. But we _are_ standing here undressed, so …”

That makes Steve look down at Billy’s bare chest – and now that Billy’s looking, there might be a slight tint of pink on Steve’s face, too. He looks away, and his eyes finds Billy’s disgusting pile of clothes on the floor. He wrinkles his nose.

“I think we have to burn those,” he says, and Billy laughs, because _yeah_.

But also. “I’m gonna keep the jacket.” At Steve’s questioning look, Billy shrugs and indicates his arm, where the demon dog bit down but didn’t reach skin. “It saved my life, kinda. The dogs, they couldn’t bite through it.” He points to Steve’s bandaged side with a raised eyebrow. “So when you think about it, _my_ jacket worked better than your fancy-ass one, tonight.”

Steve picks up Billy’s jacket between two fingers, holding it as far away from him that he can, and inspects the damage. “Hm. Well, if we hadn’t been attacked by demodogs, then my jacket would have worked fine.”

“Demon dogs.”

“What?”

“Demon dogs. You agreed that we should call them demon dogs.”

Steve makes a face and drops Billy’s jacket in the tub. “Like, I’m grateful that you saved my life and all tonight –“ As if _he_ didn’t save _Billy’s_ , too, “– but I’m not calling them demon dogs. That sounds so lame.”

Billy shoves him, just a little. “You liar! I thought you were on my side!”

Laughing, Steve reaches for the showerhead. “I’m sorry! I was just trying to rile Dustin up.”

Billy considers this. “Okay, fair enough.” And then, when Steve turns the water on, “Hey, wait, you can’t put it in _water_ , it’s leather! It’ll ruin it!”

“More than Upside Down monster goo?”

They both look down at the jacket in the tub. It looks like a slimy, newly shredded skin left behind by some kind of monster lizard. It’s not like it can get _worse_.

“Okay, _fine_.”

Steve pushes him away – a hand on Billy’s bad shoulder, but the touch is so nice that Billy ignores the twinge – and says, “I’ll wash this off, and get some clothes. Go and make your phone call.”

 _Oh yeah_. The plan. Billy had almost forgotten about that. So he leaves Steve there and walks out, barefoot, in the hallway. The closest phone (Billy knows there is one in Steve’s room too, and probably one in his dad’s study) is mounted on the wall next to the entrance to the kitchen, and he unconsciously straightens his spine before dialing the number to his house.

The call goes well. _Surprisingly_ well. Susan is the one who answers, and Billy makes sure to put the right amount of annoyance mixed with reluctant worry into his voice when he says that he _can’t find Max_ , that he’s looked _everywhere_ , and maybe they should call the police or something, to help cover more ground …? Susan is fast to assure him that that won’t be necessary, that Max is home and safe and has explained everything. When Neil takes the phone, he seems satisfied that Billy has spent his evening looking for Max. Enough so, that Billy dares ask, “Um, if she’s home safe, could I …? I mean, it’s probably not too late to show up at that party …?” To his surprise and relief, Neil agrees. Billy thanks him and hangs up the phone, exhaling in relief. He knows that this means that no one expects him home tonight.

Which begs the question; what is he supposed to do? He doesn’t want to go home, not after tonight, but is he staying here, or …? He’s never stayed over at Steve’s before. He guesses that he could sleep in his car if push comes to shove, but …

Steve solves his problem by showing up behind him and pressing a bundle of clothes into his hands. He’s dressed himself, too; worn sweatpants and an old gym T-shirt, with no socks. Billy thinks to himself that he has never looked better.

There’s a toothbrush on top of the bundle, still in its box. And a guy doesn’t give another guy a toothbrush if he’s about to kick him out in the snow. Especially not after killing monsters together, and (kind of) sharing a shower, and kissing in the bathroom. So Billy suddenly feels pretty confident that he gets to stay.

He walks back into the bathroom to get dressed and hang up the towel he’s had wrapped around his waist, and smiles when he sees that Steve hung his jacket up – free of goo, but soaked through – in the shower. The rest of his clothes are still on the floor, but has at least been put in a plastic bag.

He puts on the borrowed clothes – shorts, a T-shirt that is a little tight around the shoulders, and thick knitted socks. Even a pair of underwear, obviously belonging to Steve, which Billy is trying really hard not to think about.

The T-shirt smells like Steve. Same detergent, maybe. Whatever it is, it smells good. Reminds him of Steve wrapping his scarf around Billy’s neck earlier, and the hug that followed.

(He almost forgoes the socks out of principle, but his feet were basically frozen solid earlier and the socks look _really warm_. Besides, no one will see him in them but Steve. And – he glances at the clothes in the bag on the floor – Steve’s seen him in worse.)

“So,” he says when he saunters out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth. “You got a couch I can crash on or something?”

“No,” Steve says, and Billy has a heartbeat to wonder if he misread the toothbrush-situation before he continues, “No couches. You’ll have to share my bed.”

And like. That’s a blatant lie. Billy can _see_ the couch from here. It’s big enough to sleep in, and there’s even a blanket haphazardly thrown over one side. Moreover, Billy knows for a fact that the Harringtons have a guest room, because he’s heard Henderson brag about ‘his own room’ at Steve’s place. He has also personally been in the den, and knows there is a smaller couch there, perfectly fine to sleep in.

But he doesn’t point out any of this. What he says, when he’s licked his lip to stall, is, “Alright.”

And it’s not even that late, just after midnight, but he suddenly lets himself feel how exhausted he is. Tonight has lasted an eternity, and taken him places he didn’t know were possible to go. But if it ends up with him here, with Steve … then he doesn’t mind it in the least.

He suddenly remembers what seems like ages ago, back in his own room; he had had a good feeling about tonight. Turns out he wasn’t wrong, after all.

So they go to bed. The _same_ bed. Billy’s feeling jittery when he enters Steve’s room – he’s been in here many times by now, but never for spending the night – and hesitates by the door. But Steve just gets into the bed, leans his elbow on his pillow and holds up the end of the cover in invitation.

“Will you kill the lights?” he says – and that’s that.

Billy flips the switch. The room goes dark – not pitch black, there’s a small lamp on the desk that’s still turned on – and Billy approaches the bed. Before he can second-guess himself or think of what a bad idea this will seem like in broad daylight, he gets in. Lies down, pulls the cover up to his chest and feels it tug on where it’s also wrapped around Steve.

They’re lying under the same cover. In the same bed. He thinks that he should feel some kind of way about this, but before he can give it proper thought, Steve puts his arms around Billy and pulls him closer. Suddenly, Billy’s breathing in Steve’s scent directly from the source, and it’s –

He’s been freezing and hurt and terrified and almost died tonight, and now he’s warm and safe with Steve’s arms around him. Despite the exhaustion he has never felt as alive as he does right now.

And he figures, after the night he’s had? He deserves this. So he puts one of his arms around Steve, too. Pulls him close, and smiles at the contented hum Steve lets out as he noses under Billy’s chin. He can’t resist pressing a kiss against the top of Steve’s head before relaxing into the mattress.

He’s alive, he’s safe, he’s warm.

And he’s with Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> Important note (that wouldn't fit anywhere in the story): Yes, they lost the walkie-talkie. It was probably swallowed up by the earth along with a demon dog carcass ...
> 
> Important note #2: If you're ever bit or scratched up by monsters from another dimension, _for the love of god_ , go to a hospital!
> 
> (Also, credit for Billy naming the Camaro 'Lenore' goes to Lemonlovely.)


End file.
